Lilaced Moorland Fields
by Not.All.Who.Wonder
Summary: Kurt & Blaine Hummel have been married for fifteen years, living in New York with their seven-year-old son, both sucessful professionals. Unfortunately the utopia they crafted came to a screaching halt one day in late October. See trigger warning inside.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING THIS STORY CONTAINS CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL)**

Tony award by twenty-five, married by thirty. Kurt Hummel's life plan was very simple when he started his senior year of high school. Blaine Anderson also had a loft image of then next ten years of his life; he wanted to score a recording contract with some independent label by twenty-four, maybe move up to a more well-known independent label by twenty-seven, and like Kurt, married by thirty. At thirty-nine, when the two of them looked back on those plans, they had a bit of a laugh. Out of all of their plans, only one of them actually came to pass - they each were married by thirty, both nearly twenty five when they tied the knot in a simple summer ceremony in a lovely park in Connecticut.

Surprisingly, they were the only couple from New Direction's to make it. While Rachel and Finn had gotten married the summer after graduation, the divorce papers had been signed before either of them could legally drink. Tina and Mike did not make it through the first semester of Tina's senior year. (Mike had caught Tina fooling around with Artie). Mercedes and Sam parted ways amicably when they decided to attend college on opposite coasts. Santana and Brittany, well, Santana actually lived up to that stereotype.

Though, it wouldn't be fair to say that Kurt and Blaine didn't go through their fair share of troubles. Back in college, they had a six month co-habitation period, where they shared a one bedroom apartment after breaking up since they couldn't afford to break their lease. Kurt eventually partitioned a section of the main room off for his sleeping area. It lasted through April until Blaine told Kurt that he was tired of being his fuck-buddy (an arrangement that started accidentally during spring break while both of them were in a bit of a dry spell) and to make a choice, either give their relationship a go or find a new place to live. He had moved back into the bedroom full time by the end of the week.

Kurt exited the 96th St. subway station as he walked the rest of the way to his and Blaine's Upper West Side brownstone, a briefcase slung over one shoulder. They had bought the place together right before Blaine had turned thirty-two, knowing that they needed more space than their small Midtown apartment. Quickly he entered the corner bodega to pick up the gallon of milk Blaine had requested via text before he had left the office.

The office. It's funny how life gets in the way of the best laid plans. Kurt hadn't gotten into NYADA. Neither did Rachel. Instead, he was accepted NYU. A random comparative politics class he took freshman year to fulfill some graduation had evolved into a B.A. in politics before he could blink. He then attended Yale Law after a brilliant summer clerking for a superior court judge. Now, nearing forty, he was one of the most respected corporate lawyers in the city, having made partner at his firm two year ago.

Shuffling his keys, he quickly entered the brownstone and was greeted by the smell of the turkey lasagna he had started in the crockpot that morning.

"I'm home, and I brought the milk," he called out as he hung up his coat. Toeing off his loafers, he flipped through the mail that was on the side table. Making a quick detour, he put the milk away before padding into the living room.

"Hey, you."

Blaine was seated on the sofa, reading some article Kurt knew he could never hope to truly understand. With his scruff and slightly graying curls, he was just as handsome as he had been on the staircase at Dalton all those years ago.

Blaine never got that recording contract. While attending Columbia, he was bitten by the math bug and, thanks to AP credits and summer classes, graduated in three years with honors receiving a B.S. in mathematics. While Kurt spent three years at Yale, Blaine had been accepted into Brown University's applied math Ph.D. program. When he announced that he wanted to go into academia nine months before he received his degree, Kurt was resigned to the fact that he probably would not end up living in New York.

It always was the goal to eventually live in New York, even after Broadway was off the table. Kurt had spent his time in when he lived in New Haven and Norwich, CT, then later in Providence thinking about Manhattan and mentally decorating their apartment. But not supporting Blaine was definitely not an option. Blaine had been there when he was freaking out about the decision not to study musical theatre (that was why he had come to New York) and persuaded him to apply to Yale Law when he thought he had no chance on getting in. When they got married after Kurt's second year of law school, Blaine had surprised him by taking Kurt's name. So as Blaine prepared to officially become Dr. Blaine Hummel just shy of his twenty-ninth birthday, the two of them were shocked and overjoyed when NYU of all places offered him a tenured-track professorship with their math department.

"Hey," said Kurt, giving his husband a quick peck on the lips. He carefully laid his jacket over the back of a chair, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his sleeves, before sitting down next. "What are you reading?"

"An old article from 2011 about a spacial SIR model used to track the H1N1 virus during the outbreak back when we were in high school. We're hoping that it might be adaptable if the bovine flu mutates to become transmittable to humans."

Blaine studied mathematical approaches to epidemiology; he often consulted with the CDC and, on occasion, the WHO.

"Okay, then," he replied, letting his voice trail off. He glanced over to the dining room, to find the table set. "Why didn't start eating yet; it's 6:30."

"We wanted to wait for you," said Blaine, pulling off his reading glasses. "He's upstairs in his room. Do you want me to go get him?"

He was the couple's seven-year-old son Anderson. The two of them had decided a year and a half after moving back to New York that they were ready to start the adoption process. Having been warned that the processes normally took years, especially for open adoptions with same-sex parents, they were surprised when a pregnant seventeen-year-old selected them nine months later.

"I'll can do it."

Kurt called up the stairs to quickly grab their son's attention, while Blaine put food on the table. A minute later a curly haired boy with a light cafe au lait completion came bounding down the stairs.

"Hey Dad."

"Hey, how was school today?" he asked, giving the seven-year-old a one arm hug, which quickly turned into a bone-crushing embrace on account of his son.

"Fine, I guess," he replied after he let go, shrugging his shoulders.

Dinner was a pleasant enough experience, more so than some of their previous meals had been in the past few months. Ever since Anderson had started the third grade, he was coming home with notes from his teacher about disruptions he caused during class and concerned about the lack of close friendships with the other students. Ms. Edleson always noted that while he was a delightful boy, always willing to say in during recess to help her, he would often act out.

The last note, which came home last week, detailed him begging to stay and wash the chalkboards instead of going to art class. When she had returned from the teacher's lounge half-way through her free block, she found him back in their classroom cleaning out the chalk trays. This had been the most alarming note for Blaine and Kurt; Anderson was an extremely talented artist and even took part in summer art camp, which his art teacher had personally recommended for him. They were afraid that their son was being bullied by one of his classmates and didn't want to say anything. Ms. Edleson, when told, said she would keep a closer eye on him.

"So we're gonna do an egg drop in science of Friday," said Anderson, helping Blaine clear the dinner dishes from the table.

"Really?" replied Blaine.

"Yeah we're gonna build contraptions to try to stop the egg from breaking when we throw them out of the third story window."

"Cool."

"And today, we drew our designs. Ms. Edleson said my blueprints were really good. And on Thursday we're gonna build them. Dad," he added looking over at Kurt. "What are we having for dessert?"

"Vanilla ice cream," answered Kurt. "Papa, would you like some?"

"Just a little bit."

Kurt carried two bowls back to the table and passed them out. Quickly he grabbed a cup of hot water and packet of chamomile tea before joining them. While he was still a religious coffee drinker, after he turned thirty he found that any caffeine after 3 pm would keep him up half the night.

"Dad, Papa, can we play a game tonight?" asked Anderson, while digging into his ice cream.

"Did you finish all your homework?" inquired Kurt.

"Uh-huh. Papa helped me with long division."

Kurt nodded. Anderson finished his dessert in record time before scampering to the entertainment closet in the den. Despite his issues at school, their son was still very close to them. Both dreaded when true teenage rebellion would set in. However, Kurt was of the mindset to enjoy the time they had and as such family game night would last as long as it could. The three of them made it through two rounds of Sorry! before it was time for Anderson to start to get ready for bed.

"Do you want Dad or I to help you with your bath?" asked Blaine, as their son scampered towards the stairs.

"Papa, I can shower by myself. I'll be eight years old in December."

Blaine sighed, while Kurt shook his head as he put away the game pieces. This had been another clashing point between them as of late. Anderson was adamant that he was old enough to shower on his own, without them checking on him. Blaine thought that he might need some supervision, especially since before September he was still taking baths and having him or Kurt wash his hair. Kurt, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as worried about it as his husband. He was quick to pull up the parenting blogs to show him that kids even younger than their son were bathing unassisted. Blaine was still a little uneasy, but Kurt was afraid that his baths could be a point of ridicule for the kids in his class.

"Okay," said Blaine. "But don't be afraid to holler if you need us."

Anderson made a face when he thought his parents weren't looking as he bounded up the stairs and into the bathroom.

"Don't give me that look, Kurt," Blaine groaned.

"What look?" smiled Kurt back at him.

"That look," he indicated. "That smug look you wear when you think I'm being overprotective and overbearing."

"I don't think your being overprotective and overbearing," said Kurt, at which Blaine just scoffed. "I think that your just being a parent. Hey, believe me, I'm glad you care so much."

The two of them worked in comfortable silence putting away the leftovers from dinner and wiping down the counter tops, listening to the water run upstairs. As Kurt handed Blaine freshly washed dishes to dry, he felt his husband lean his head on his shoulder. "Tired?"

"Long day. Long month actually. I just can't wait until November 3rd. Once I submit to AML, I can just breath."

"You know you can always submit it next month," the lawyer chuckled.

"Yeah, but I've been working on it for so long. I just want to get it published and done. Because then there's NSF proposals to write, and I just know Carl Yi from Computational and Applied Mathematics is going to ask me to peer review something after he helped me out last summer. Then I have that AMS conference the first week of December. I feel like I have no time until after finals. What?"

"Nothing, just you," said Kurt staring at Blaine for a moment with a small grin.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's just I really find the whole professor thing really sexy," he mused, drying off his hands. He then Blaine by the back of the neck and kissed him deeply. Blaine's arms quickly wound around his husband's back, pulling him closer.

"Ew, stop it."

The two men jumped apart to find Anderson behind them, his red face buried in his hands. Neither of them had heard the shower go off.

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be embarrassed by us until he was a teenager," whispered Kurt. He pecked Blaine once more on the lips. Louder, "Okay, you can look now. Lets get you into bed. Did you brush your teeth already?" Kurt asked as he and Anderson headed back upstairs.

Blaine lagged behind, laying the dish towel out to dry and emptying the water from the sink, a smile still on his face. Honestly, the whole embarrassing your kid was kind of great at times. He now totally understood why his mother displayed candid toddler pictures of him proudly in the entry way of his childhood home. As he headed upstairs, he could hear Kurt softly singing.

"_When you wake, you will have all the pretty little ponies. " _

Kurt's soprano rang out as he sat on the end of the bed, lights turned down low. Blaine just stared for a moment, relishing in the domesticity of it all, before joining in.

"_All the pretty little ponies, will be their when you arise. " _

Their voices still melded as perfectly as they did back in high school. As they finished, Kurt placed a kiss on Anderson's forehead as his husband quietly shuffled over to say goodnight.

"One more, Papa," he begged.

"Not tonight, you have school tomorrow," he replied, giving his son another good night kiss. "See you in the morning."

"See you in the evening," quipped back Anderson.

"See you in the wintertime," they spoke together.

Turning the light off, the two men closed the door and headed back downstairs. Blaine flopped onto the couch.

"Uhhh," he sighed. Noticing the other man heading to the kitchen, he called out, "I already finished straightening everything out in there."

"I know," replied Kurt.

"Well, then why aren't you in here?" Blaine whined a little, grabbing the TV remote. He flipped through the channels for a few minutes before settling on an old John Hughes flick.

"I'm bringing you dessert," called Kurt.

"So that ice cream was...?

"Let me rephrase that," said Kurt, reemerging from the kitchen. "I bringing you grownup dessert."

Blaine leaned backward over the couch and saw his husband coming over with two glasses and a bottle of Merlot. "God you are amazing."

"Well, I do try," he said, filling the two glasses up halfway. He handed one glass to his husband and joined him on the couch. "I love this movie. Molly Ringwald is just quintessential 80's."

The two watched in silence, sipping red wine for a while just enjoying each others company.

"I called Dr. Marshal today," said Blaine, breaking the silence. Dr. Marshal was Anderson's pediatrician. "He said that Anderson's recent bed wetting is probably stress induced."

Bed wetting. Another issue of Anderson's that had started in the beginning of third grade. It had become a weekly occurrence since the beginning of the year. It really worried them; the boy hadn't had any nighttime accidents since he was five. It was a very touchy subject with their son; he flat out refused to wear a pull-up or something to bed.

"Stress induced?"

"Yeah, and it kind of makes sense." said Blaine as he poured a second glass. "If he is being bullied at school, the bed wetting could be a result. Though he said that it could be some sort of bladder issue. I made an appointment for him to go in next week. Do you want some more?"

Kurt shook his head, declining a second glass. "I have that deposition for the Waterson account all day tomorrow."

"Oh that's right. How is that whole shindig going?"

He just rolled his eyes in frustration. "I just want it all to be over. Waterson's at fault; I know it, Nick Peterson knows it, hell even Waterson knows it. I really just trying to figure out how to get out of it without making a total fool out of myself."

The two of them continued to discuss work while the movie played in the background. Blaine expressed his disbelief that students in his section of calc II were still turning homework in late yet surprised when they were penalized for it. It was written on the syllabus in bold that late homework would be docked ten points per day.

"I'm worried about how some of them are going to do on the midterm tomorrow," he mused during a commercial break.

"Why? I really don't understand why you put in all this effort to help them if they don't seem to appreciate it."

"The thing is, there are those who do appreciate it. And if I can show just one student that math isn't as pointless as so many of them think, I count it as a win."

Kurt sighted and kissed Blaine on the temple. "I know you do, I just hate seeing you stressing out like this."

When the film ended, Blaine gathered up their glasses while Kurt set the alarm system. 10:30 and all he wanted to do was go to bed – god he felt old. Heading upstairs, Kurt detoured into Anderson's room in order to wake him up to use to bathroom one more time, while his husband steered directly into the master suite.

Blaine was in the master bathroom brushing his teeth, when Kurt joined him. He grinned, until he felt toothpaste dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Kurt grinned and shook his head, grabbing his face wash.

"You're such a goober," he said, watching his husband wipe his face.

It's funny how life changes with kids, even just one. Their current skin shlepping ritual was much more abbreviated than the one they shared in high school. At that time, both of them were sure that by the time that they were forty, their skin regiment would take at least an hour in order to properly fight aging. Yet here they were with a nightly bathroom routine that took about fifteen minutes, containing a single wrinkle crème, and for Blaine an eye syrum, Kurt an even skin tone illuminator (even with an impressive titanium oxide based sunscreen, he still had some signs of sun damage.) as well as general face wash and moisturizer. He supposed that it helped that neither of struggled with acne as much as they did all those years ago. Also both preferred the extra thirty minutes of sleep this routine afforded them.

After finishing his bathroom routine, Blaine stripped his clothes from the day, he pulled on a pair of plaid flannel pants, looking at himself in the large mirror over the lowboy that Kurt used as a dressing table. Groaning, he grabbed his stomach noting the slight pudge.

"Uh, time to start going to the gym again," he griped himself.

"I think you look fine." A pair of arms wrapped around his waist and Kurt kissed his bare shoulder. "It's not like I have time to keep up my abs either. And besides you still have really nice arms."

"Still, I think there's a spinning class starting next week with the new quarter at school. Maybe I'll join."

"If I makes you happy," said Kurt as he dressed for bed. "At least you still have a full head of hair."

"You look fine," said Blaine, getting into bed. It wasn't as if Kurt had a gaping bald spot. His hairline was just receding a little bit, that was all. "It makes you look distinguished and authoritative. Very lawyerly. Now get into bed, I'm cold."

Kurt quickly joined his husband, turning off the lights. Wishing each other goodnight, they kissed and curled up in the middle of the bed, soon asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING! THIS STORY CONTAINS CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL)! DISCRETION IS ADVISED! **

When Kurt's alarm went off at 5:30 the next morning, Blaine groaned and buried himself further into the bedding. He felt his husband shift, turning off the alarm and heading towards the bathroom without turning on the light. Blaine sighed; he had thirty minutes before he had to get up.

He and Kurt had perfected their morning routines several years ago. Kurt would take a quick shower and style his hair before exiting the bathroom, signaling it was time for Blaine to get up. He didn't even need to set an alarm. While Kurt had to leave the brownstone by 6:45 to catch his train downtown, Blaine would get Anderson ready, taking the car to drop him off to school before heading to NYU.

Kurt dressed in a gray Armani suit, with simple cranberry tie, while Blaine shrugged on a shirt and headed downstairs to get their coffee ready. A general rule in the Hummel house was there was little to no talking before Dad and Papa got their morning coffee. It was especially important on the weekends when Anderson would often wake up before either of the two men.

Blaine had set coffee maker before he went to bed, so when he made it to the kitchen, a fresh pot of drip was waiting for him. Pouring himself a cup he added a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cinnamon, basking in the smell and taste. For Kurt he added a dollop of vanilla soy milk ready for him when he came down.

"Mmmm, morning," mumbled Kurt as he accepted his drink and together they let the caffeine kick in.

"What time do you think you'll be home tonight," asked Blaine as he heated milk on the stove for breakfast. Oatmeal today.

"Dave Johnson, Peterson's lawyer, has a new baby at home so we should finish up the deposition by five. I figure I'll just head home from there. If you pick up some goat cheese from that market by NYU, I can make that zucchini pasta you like."

"That sounds great," he replied, stirring the oats into the hot milk. "How many days to you think it will take?"

"The deposition? Hopefully not more than two. Why?"

"Oh, it's just that Anderson had a dentist appointment at 8:30 Friday morning and my calc II class meets at 9. If you can't take him, I'll call to reschedule."

"I should be able to do it. I'll let Johnson know that if it takes more than two days, I can't be in until 10."

"Great."

Kurt and Blaine silently sipped their coffee, putting breakfast on table. "I'm going to go wake Anderson."

Blaine came back down to the table, informing Kurt that Anderson was getting up. The two men sat for a moment with their coffee and oatmeal, a third bowl with orange juice set out waiting, and listen for the tell-tale thunder of footsteps. A few minutes later, they heard stomping down the stairs.

Since Anderson had started school, it had become normal for their son to eat breakfast before getting dressed in the morning. Kurt wanted to see his son before he had to leave for work every morning and there was no way he could do that if Anderson had to be dressed before coming downstairs.

"Daddy!" exclaimed Anderson, launching himself into his fathers arms.

"Hey, buddy. Did you have a good sleep?" asked Kurt, who was happy to see the boy in the same pajamas he had worn to bed the night before. He glanced at Blaine, back at the pajamas, and once more back at Blaine. They shared a smile, glad that Anderson had made it through the night without enuresis.

"Yeah," replied the seven-year-old, adding brown sugar to his oatmeal.

"Not too much," cautioned Kurt, placing a hand in warning on Anderson's wrist to stop his son from grabbing a third scoop. Sighing, he checked his watch. 6:40. "I've got to head out soon."

"Already, Dad?"

"Yeah," he said, wrapping his son up in a hug. "Have good day at school today."

"I guess."

Blaine was in the kitchen with a travel mug full with a second cup of coffee. "You are an angel."

"I try," said Blaine, giving Kurt a peck on the lips. "I'll see you later tonight."

After Kurt left, Blaine focused on getting himself and Anderson ready for their days. While Anderson finished eating his breakfast, Blaine quickly ran upstairs to get dressed. Throwing on a faded t-shirt, he grabbed a gray striped cardigan and dark wash jeans. Trends changed (and Kurt was always on top of them), but his style was still the same as it had been in high school. The only thing that deviated was the amount of product he put in his hair. During his undergraduate studies Kurt had finally found a curling syrum that tamed his hair but still let his curls remain relatively free.

7:00. He hurried back downstairs to find Anderson loading his bowl into the dishwasher. He ushered his son upstairs so he could dress while Blaine packed lunches for the two of them. He made a quick turkey sandwich for his son, while grabbing some of last nights lasagna for himself. When 7:30 rolled around, Blaine gathered their things to load up the car. Anderson was waiting at the door, coat and backpack on. To his dismay, his son was also clutching Patches, his stuffed elephant.

"Anderson," he said, grabbing his own coat. "You know that you can't bring Patches to school."

"I'll just keep him in my backpack."

"Anderson, this isn't just one of Dad's and my rules, it a school rule and you know it."

"Can I just bring him in the car with me?"

"No, go put him in the living room. And you can leave your backpack over here," Blaine added.

Anderson huffed, but did as he was told, letting his father hold his backpack. Blaine knew that if he let his son bring his backpack with, the elephant would find its way in.

"Come on, buddy," he called out. Anderson came back downstairs with a grumpy look. "Hey don't give me that look. Lets go we don't want to be late."

* * *

><p>Everyone knew the rules in Blaine's classroom; all electronic devices were to be kept out sight, including cell phones, laptops, and tablets If he saw or heard anything, the offender was out. So when a cellphone ringer went off fifteen minutes into his compartmental modeling class, a murmur went through the room. Blaine, recognizing the ringtone, sheepishly made his way over to his backpack and pulled out his cell. He meant to just silence the ringer, but stopped when he saw The Bayside School flashing on the caller ID.<p>

"Sorry guys, I really need to take this."

Stepping outside, the class erupted into a whispering frenzy as he closed the door. Honestly, he understood why; with a class composed of mostly senior math majors, they had all seen him kick some kid out of his class for cellphone use.

"Hello, Blaine Hummel."

"_Dr. Hummel, this is Cynthia Martin from Bayside,"_ said a calm voice over the phone.

"Yeah, i-is Anderson okay?" he asked quickly, a thousand and one different scenarios going through his mind.

"_He's fine, but he beat up another kid at school during recess."_

"He beat up – What?" The possibility of his son starting a fight was the last thing he thought of. _Being _beaten up by another kid, sure, but not this.

"_He started a fight with another student. You need to come pick him up."'_

"Yes, of course. It's just … are you sure that's the whole story? We've been worried that he was being bullied by classmates."

"_I just know what the playground monitor said, but for what it's worth, the boy he fought with isn't even in his class. Either way, we need you to come down here and pick him up. Principal Paton will speak to you when you get here."_

"Okay, I'm on my way now." Blaine hung up the phone. Exhaling slowly, he carded a hand through his hair. "What the hell, Anderson?" he mumbled to himself.

When he walked back into the classroom, the whispering quickly ceased. Blaine grabbed his notes from the front table.

"Sorry about that guys. Family emergency."

"Everything alright, Blaine?" asked a blonde from the front row, Bella, he noted.

"Yeah, but I have to go pick up my son from school." Blaine quickly packed his backpack while the students started to put away their notebooks. "So we'll pick up from here on Friday. Just as a reminder, problem set 5 is due then. Um, I probably won't be available this afternoon for office hours, but I should be there tomorrow. And as always, if you do have a question, you can always email me. So … everyone have a good couple of days and I'll see you Friday."

Blaine shrugged his coat on, going next door to grab a couple things from his office. Rapidly, he shoved the pile of calc II exams in his bag along with his lunch and headed to the underground faculty parking lot. Starting the car, he checked the time. Twenty-five after twelve. Thank god that Anderson's school was in the East Village because he would hate to have to try to make it much farther during lunch hour.

* * *

><p>Thankfully Blaine was able to make it to Anderson's school in fifteen minutes despite the time of day. Yet the time he spent driving was not enough for him to wrap his mind around the whole situation. Anderson was a good kid. Yes he was having problems at school, but he was never violent. Not that he didn't believe that his son was in fight, and yes he was extremely frustrated and annoyed with him, but the whole thing seemed to be out of left field.<p>

"Hi, I'm Blaine Hummel," he told the secretary who had buzzed him into building. "I'm here to see Principal Paton about my son Anderson."

"Right down the hall, second door on the left," he told him with a gesture.

Blaine nodded, and followed the directions to the principal's office. He was greeted by Cindy Martin, the principal's assistant, who said she would let Principal Paton know he was here. Anderson, who was sitting morosely in a chair in the corner, jumped up when he heard his father enter.

"Papa, it's not what you think. I –"

"Anderson, I don't know what to think," said Blaine. "All I know is that I was called in the middle of class by Ms. Martin here telling me you were in a fight and I have come pick you up."

"Dr. Hummel," Ms. Martin, politely interrupted. "Principal Paton is ready for you."

"Okay." He turned back to his son. "Now, I'm going to talk to your principal. We'll continue this afterwords."

Principal Paton's office was, in general, a very welcoming place for an office. The walls were painted a cheery yellow with a back wall covered with books. Another wall displayed copies of student artwork and other achievements. It was one of the reasons they choose the school.

"Dr. Hummel, please take a seat."

Principal Ella Paton was a kind but firm women somewhere between ages 40 and 60. With her simple black pants suit and colorful floral blouse, she wasn't frumpy or unstylish but it definitely was a Kohl's chic.

"Blaine," he said, shaking her hand as he sat in front of her desk.

"Blaine," she nodded and glanced at the open manila folder on her desk. "I'm sorry you had to come in like this."

_Me too, _he thought. "Yeah. So Anderson was in a fight?"

"During lunch recess. Mrs. Jamison, the playground monitor, saw him push another boy, Alex Kemp, unprovoked. Thankfully neither boy was seriously hurt, but, as I'm sure you understand, there has to be consequences."

"Of course," he said, still a little confused. "Not to be rude or anything, but his father and I have been concerned about him being bullied, with his behavioral changes and all. Are you sure this was completely unprovoked?"

The principal let out an audible sigh.

"Let me be frank; I can't have my students beating each other up."

"And I understand that," said Blaine, a little exasperated.

"I'm glad. Now here's what we know. No one has seen Alex Kemp ever having any meaningful interaction with your son. From what I've gathered Anderson didn't like something that Alex said and took it out on him physically. I'm sorry, but no one has given any inclination that Anderson was provoked, including the two boys."

"What?"

"The other boy said that he wanted to kiss a girl in Anderson's class. When your son's motives were questioned, he got so upset that he just shut down wouldn't answer any more questions."

Blaine let out a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "I'm just – god, it just seems like something's missing."

Principal Paton sighed. "Dr. Hummel, your son has had disciplinary problems since the start of the year. It could be some type of hyperactivity, fighting with a friend, or just stress from a harder workload – I don't know. Is there any problems going on at home?"

"No, everything's been pretty normal," he said, a little uncomfortable with her expression.

"Nevertheless," she replied, sending him one more inquiring glance. "We at The Bayside School may not be able to continue to best serve Anderson's needs if he stays on the same trajectory."

Was she suggesting that Anderson could be expelled? He was dumbfounded.

"I'm not saying that this is definitely the case or anything," said Paton quickly, noting his expression. "I'm just saying that it's something to think about." Blaine nodded. The principal closed her folder. "So Anderson's been dismissed for the day. Before he comes back to classes, he needs to give Alex a written letter of apology. He'll also be spending lunch and recess in my office for the next seven days. Anderson knows this."

"Okay."

"Well, I think we're done here unless you have any more questions."

Blaine shook his head. "No." Honestly he was a feeling a little antsy and couldn't wait to get out of the office to talk to his son.

"Okay, if you think of anything, please call me," said the principal, standing and shaking his hand. "And have a good day."

"You too," said Blaine as he left the office. Anderson was still in the same chair, watching him with large eyes.

"Papa," he started.

"Not now, Anderson," he said shortly. "We'll discuss this in the car on the way home. Do you have all of your stuff?"

Anderson nodded franticly, zipping up his coat. Blaine knew he sounded a little harsh, but given the circumstances, it wasn't unfounded. They would discuss it in the car. For now, let his son sweat it a little longer. Perhaps he would think twice about getting into a fight again.

* * *

><p>"Papa," said Anderson from the back seat. "I'm really sorry."<p>

Blaine looked back at him through the rear view mirror, noting his red eyes and nose. "I'm extremely disappointed in you Anderson."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't whine at me," he said calmly. "Why would you hit another boy? Your dad and I didn't teach you to behave that way."

"I..I didn't..."

"You didn't what, Anderson Timothy, you didn't mean to?" asked Blaine, raising his voice slightly.

"No..I..I.."

"I just want to know why?"

"He was saying things."

"To you?"

"No," Anderson sniffed. "I hear him saying stuff to someone else."

"Was he saying stuff about you?" asked Blaine, a little concerned now. Maybe there was more to this whole thing than was first apparent.

"No, about Allie Fergison."

Blaine took a deep breath. Trying to get Anderson to explain what had happened was like pulling teeth. He had to prod for every little answer. "What was he saying about her?" His son mumbled something inaudible into his lap while gripping the armrest of his booster seat. "You need to speak up."

"I said that he said that he was going to kiss her this afternoon."

"So you thought punching him was a good idea?" Anderson shrugged his shoulders and let out a wordless groan. At this point Blaine wasn't going to push him, not while he was driving. "Why?"

"Because…" he trailed off.

"Because …?" Blaine prompted.

"Just because." whined Anderson, raising his voice.

"Don't give me that tone, mister," he said firmly. "Now, you and I both know that 'because' isn't a proper answer. I'm going to give you one more chance; why did you think punching Alex was a good idea?"

Anderson just kept his mouth shut, although he had the decency to look properly chastised.

"Fine," said Blaine, as they made their way by Central Park. "You can just sit there and think about a proper answer."

The ride home finished in silence, save the mutterings from Blaine as he circled their block twice trying to find a parking spot. Thankfully someone was pulling out across the street from their brownstone.

"Ah, ah, ah," Blaine tsked when Anderson tried to quickly down the hall once they got inside. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To do my homework," he replied in at tone suggesting that this fact should be obvious to his father. "In the office."

In order to keep up some sort of home life when they first moved back to New York, Kurt had been insistent that the place that they got had room for shared office space. During those first few years, they had spent many a night sharing a take-away while working through discovery files and grant proposals. The office in their first apartment had been converted to a nursery for Anderson. However, without space at home, Kurt found himself spending more and more time at his office. After a seventy hour week, Blaine had declared that they needed to find a new place, one with office space.

"But I always do my homework in the office," whined Anderson, when Blaine moved to stop him.

When Anderson had started second grade and started getting nightly spelling homework, Kurt and Blaine had set up a small desk in the corner. Blaine had reasoned that having him do his homework in a spot that he already associated with work (from a very young age the two of them had instilled the idea that the office was for work not play in him and not to disturb Daddy or Papa while they were in there) would make it easier for him to stay focused. The plan had worked, mostly. The was the one time Blaine had caught Anderson sneaking a book in when he was supposed to be doing math homework; it had resulted in homework being done at the kitchen table under his watchful eye for a week. But other than that, the plan was pretty successful.

"Not today, buddy," said Blaine, steering Anderson towards the dinning room table. While he hated to interrupt his son's routine, there was bigger issues at hand. "You beat up a kid at school; there are going to be consequences. And you still haven't told explained yourself."

"But I'm already missing recess for a week," he complained, ignoring the last comment.

"That is at school, this is here. So park it mister." He gestured to the table, where Anderson sat with a huff. "Now, are you ready to tell me why?"

Anderson looked at Blaine with wide eyes, and bit his lip. "I just didn't want her to get hurt," he muttered.

"Anderson," said Blaine, sitting down in the chair next to him. "When two people kiss it shouldn't hurt." Well it could, but Blaine really didn't want to get into the idea of assault and rape with a seven-year-old. "You just have to make sure you both want to. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, you are going to sit here and write out your apology letter," said Blaine firmly. "After that, you are going to do your homework until dinner time."

"But..but what if I finish?" gasped Anderson, shocked at the idea he could spend over four hours sitting at the kitchen table.

"You have a spelling test at the end of the week and multiplication tables to learn. I'm sure we'll find things for you to do. And don't think this discussion is finished," called Blaine as he head back to the entry way to grab his backpack. "When Dad gets home, the three of us are going to sit down and have a long talk."

Speaking of Dad, Blaine really needed to let Kurt know what was going on. Whipping out his cell, he called up Kurt's personal cell number.

"_Hello, you've reached Kurt Hummel's mobile phone. I'm currently unavailable right now, but if you leave your name and number, I will try to get back to you as soon as I can."_

Kurt must still be in deposition, mused Blaine as he listened for the beep. "Hey Kurt, it's me. Um, I just want to let you know that I had to pick up Anderson from school today. He got in a fight with another student. Um, we're at home now. And I figure there will be a long discussion with the three of us when you get back so hopefully you aren't too late tonight. I just wanted to let you know so that you had a heads up when you got in. Love you, bye."

Blaine rubbed his face with a hand. Honestly, this was the last thing he really had time to deal with. Grabbing his backpack, he headed to the great room. Might as well get a head start grading his exams. While he normally graded in the office, he wanted to be able to keep an eye on Anderson. After grabbing a glass of juice, he settled himself down in the recliner, using his cellphone to start up his Adele playlist. The opening notes of "The Trolley Song" filtered through the house's sound system. Back in 2019, she had covered the _Judy at Carnegie Hall_ record in its entirety and was still one of Blaine's favorite albums.

Blaine worked in near silence for over an hour, every so often glancing up to check on Anderson, who was diligently working on his letter of apology and then his regular homework. Blaine quickly made up a few worksheets with basic multiplication and division problems, which he gave to his son after he finished his homework. A quick web search yielded several word problems as well.

Ninety minutes in, he decided to call it quits on his grading. While there were very talented students in his class, there were also lazy ones, as evident by the number of people who got the throw-away homework problem he put on the exam wrong. It was only three o'clock, much to early to start dinner, but he supposed that he could get started on the laundry for the week.

"Hey buddy, do you want a snack?" asked Blaine as he walked past.

"Could I have some cheesy popcorn?" asked Anderson timidly in return. While his shyness was a little disconcerting, especially piled on top of how quiet the boy had been all afternoon, he was glad his son seemed properly apologetic.

"Of course," said Blaine, as he pulled the Smartfood from a cabinet.

He placed the bowl on the table before heading upstairs to gather dirty clothes. Blaine left the basket of dry-clean only upstairs, bringing their other hamper to the basement. When they first moved in together during college, Blaine had been insistent that he could clean to Kurt's standards. With that in mind, Kurt had spent an entire weekend reteaching Blaine how to do laundry. While he had never thought about it before, it did make sense to wash similar fabrics together, much like colors. Blaine was just glad that they owned their own washer and dryer now; Sundays were no longer spent at the laundromat. Also, Kurt did own a little less couturier now then he did then, but a large quantity of high-end menswear was added. Either way it meant there were few hand wash items, and he wasn't ashamed to admit how much he loved his husband's ass in those perfectly tailored trousers.

Anderson, on the other hand, was not as meticulous with his clothing. It's not that he was a slob or anything, most of his stuff ended up in the hamper, but he was still a seven-year-old and his clothes showed seven-year-old boy wear. So when Blaine realized that he was missing a pair of uniform pants (there should have been two in the hamper not one), he headed back upstairs to find them.

They were underneath Anderson's bed, scrunched in a corner. Blaine just sighed, wondering how on earth they got there. As he turned the pants right side out, he notice a small reddish-brown stain on the seat. At first he was annoyed, if Anderson had spilled something, it would have been easier to remove if he had gotten it right away. However, that train of thought stopped short when he noticed the stain was larger in the underwear still inside. God, was his son hiding some sort of injury?

"Anderson, what's this?" asked Blaine carefully when he came downstairs and held up the pants.

"It's nothing," said Anderson quickly.

"Anderson," said Blaine slowly, as he placed the pants on the table and swatted down to look his son in the eye. "This is very, very important; you can't lie to me."

Anderson's mouth began to tremor. "You promise you won't get mad at me?" he asked, eyes beginning to water.

Blaine nearly froze in response. Yes Anderson had muttered the phrase before, something about his expression threw Blaine off. While he hoped his son was just overreacting, most of the more innocent causes were beginning to leave his mind.

"You promise? You won't send me away? Or give me back?" His voice cracked.

Blaine pulled Anderson out of his seat and into his arms. Give him back? Blaine was unsure where Anderson had ever heard such an idea. While he knew he was adopted, Kurt and he had always let him know how wanted he was. A picture that was becoming more and more grim was beginning to paint itself in his mind. And god he hoped he was wrong; he hoped it was bullying or an odd childhood accident not something more sinister.

"Anderson, nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever make Dad or I even think about sending you away," he said solemnly.

"You promise?" he asked again.

"I promise," he whispered.

It was then the floodgates opened with just a quiver. Anderson was sobbing into his chest, holding on to him tightly. Blaine clutched his son just as tight. In between the sobs, he made out "I didn't want to."


	3. Chapter 3

**WARNING! THIS STORY CONTAINS CHILD ABUSE (SEXUAL)! DISCRETION IS ADVISED!**

"God dammit, Kurt, pick up your fucking phone," whispered Blaine with frustration into his cellphone. Five times he attempted to get a hold of his husband, and every time voicemail.

"Hey honey, it's me again," he sniffed into the phone after the beep. "It's four o'clock. Please … just call me."

Disconnecting, he rubbed his eyes, trying to hide the tears and poked his head back into the living room. Anderson was still curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Blaine had set up the DVR to play recordings of ZOOM, although it didn't appear that Anderson was particularly interested. However, he was just glad that the hard sobs had stopped; once Anderson had given himself permission to cry, it seemed like he would never stop.

Blaine quietly slipped back in to sit on the other side of the sofa, unable to leave Anderson alone for more than a few minutes. At first he thought his son had fallen asleep, but noticed his thumb rubbing over the worn fabric of his stuffed elephant in a familiar fashion. Self-soothing. It was a motion that he and Kurt had watched Anderson make so many times. Carefully, he placed a hand on Anderson's back. In an instant, his son had buried himself back in Blaine's lap.

He and Blaine had spent much of the last hour in this position. Blaine's blood had run cold when Anderson had declared that he 'didn't want it' and that 'it hurt when he put when he touched me there.' After his first confession, Blaine had scooped Anderson up and brought him over the the couch. He hoped that the more comfortable his son was, the easier it would be to withdraw information from him. With some prodding, the story began to unfurl. He said I was such a big boy and that this was how big boys showed that they liked each other. He said that people wouldn't understand and that people would take me away from you and Daddy if I told.

Despite opening up, Anderson had been vague about specific details—dates, locations, and such. Indeed when Blaine pressed for a name, Anderson just shut down, sobbing harder and harder. It got to the point that Blaine was worried that he might force himself to have an asthma attack. After that he just didn't have the heart to press on, especially when Anderson mumbled into his shoulder, "It just hurt so much, Papa."

So he just sat on the couch with his son in his arms, feeling helpless. God, he had watched enough episodes of Law and Order: SVU in his youth (what could he say, Christopher Meloni had great pecs) to know what was going to happen. He just knew he would fall apart when they went to the hospital.

A ringing from Blaine's cellphone, startled the two of them. Carefully depositing Anderson back on the sofa, he rushed into the kitchen, fingers fumbling on screen.

"Kurt?" he said hopefully, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Uh, no, this is Cheryl. I saw you called earlier."

In his attempt to contact Kurt, Blaine had called his personal assistant Cheryl Li hoping that she would be able to connect him. Unfortunately, her phone had gone straight to voicemail as well, although he was able to leave a much more composed message.

"Hey Cheryl, by any chance do you have a way to get a hold of Kurt? I tried to call him on his cell, but he's not picking up." he said, trying not to sound too desperate.

"He's in the middle of a deposition today."

"I know," replied Blaine, doing his best not to sound too annoyed. "But this is an emergency. Something happened to Anderson."

"Kurt got your message about him going home early," thinking that could be why he was calling. "The school left a message with me and I passed it on to him during their lunch recess."

"No, that's not it," said Blaine, getting desperate. "Please, is there _any_ way you can get a hold of him?"

"Well..." said Cheryl and Blaine heard a shuffling of papers in the background. "I can call Jim Waterson's PA; he should be at the deposition and never has his cellphone off. Hopefully he can give him the message."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you." Blaine let out a huge sigh of relief. "Just...just please let him know its important."

"I will."

Blaine quickly wished Cheryl a good day before hanging up. He just hoped that she was able to get a hold of him.

"Papa, who was that?"

Anderson had made his way into the kitchen, still clutching his elephant. Despite the graveness of the situation, Blaine couldn't help but smile sadly; dark curly hair, not dissimilar to his own was sticking up everywhere, with dark eyes darting around shyly. If this had been any other day, Blaine would think that he was angling for more TV time or an extra snack.

"That was Ms. Li from Dad's office. She's helping get a hold of him."

Anderson's eyes widened. "Daddy's not going to be mad at me, is he? Cause I interrupted him at work?"

Blaine swatted down to look his son in the eye. "No, buddy; Daddy's not going to be mad at you. Like I told you earlier, you did a very brave thing telling me. Daddy's going to be so proud of you."

"But isn't he in court? We're not supposed to call Daddy in court."

"He's not exactly in court today. Remember when Daddy told you about depositions?" Blaine asked. Anderson shrugged his shoulders. "Well, its when he talks to the people he's defending with the other guy's lawyer to get information. So it's okay for us to call him, okay?"

Anderson shrugged his shoulders again. Smiling, Blaine lifted him into his arms, ignoring the protest from his back.

"Papa, do we hafta tell Daddy?" he asked in a quiet tone, but with complete sincerity.

"Of course we do," said Blaine, heading back into the living room. Ugg, he was getting too old to be hoisting a seven-year-old around. "Why wouldn't we tell Daddy?"

Anderson pulled away from his neck, looking at him with big dark eyes, but refusing to answer his question. "How do you know Daddy's gonna be proud of me?" he deflected.

Blaine shot Anderson a sad smile. "I know that he's going to be proud," he said, sitting back on the couch but keeping his son in his lap and rubbing his back. "Because I'm proud of you. And if I'm proud of you, then Daddy will definitely be proud of you."

"Then why were you crying earlier, Papa?"

"Well," said Blaine, choosing his words carefully. "I was crying earlier because I was very sad about what happened to you and wanted to make things better. But that doesn't mean I'm not still proud of you. It's like when you fell and broke your arm when learning to ride a bike. We were sad that it happened that but also really proud that you were so good when you got your cast on. Now, we need to tell Daddy because Daddy and I are a team and we're going to be your team to help make this better, okay?"

"I guess," he muttered, turning back to look at the TV. The two of them sat in silence, watching two of members of the ZOOM cast construct flinkers.

"What happens next?" asked Anderson in a small voice, not looking Blaine in the eye.

"A couple different things," said Blaine, trying stay calm for Anderson's sake. "We'll go to the doctor to make sure you're not hurt physically. We'll also have to go talk to the police to tell them wh-"

"NO!" Anderson yelled, tensing up and clenching his eyes shut tight. "No, no, no!"

"Hey, shhhh, shhh, it's okay," Blaine murmured, rubbing Anderson's back and shoulders, trying to relax the stiff muscles. "Just calm down … everything's going to be okay."

"I don't want to tell the police," he whimpered, beginning to hyperventilate. "What if they take me away?"

"Hey Anderson, you need to breathe, buddy. The police are _not_ going to take you away, okay. Deep breaths. You need to calm down buddy. Come on deep breath in...and out...in...and out... That's good. You're doing great." Blaine slowly worked to calm Anderson down to the point they could talk. "Now, it's really important to tell the police. Daddy and I want to do everything to protect you, but sometimes we can't do it alone. The police can make sure the person who did this is p-"

Blaine was cut off by the shrill ringing of his cellphone. One look at the caller ID, and he felt a huge sigh of relief.

"Kurt," he sighed, picking up the phone.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Peterson, you did work for Mr. Waterson at the time?"<p>

"Yes."

"And you were compensated for your work?"

"Of-of course, but not-"

"A yes or no answer will suffice," said Kurt almost tiresomely , not looking up from his notes.

The day had dragged on, although Kurt was much more optimistic about reaching a more favorable outcome than he had this morning. His client might have been in the wrong but Nick Peterson, while unarguably a brilliant programer, could not keep his foot out of his damn mouth. At least one thing was going right today. During their lunch break, Kurt had gotten a message from Blaine saying that Anderson had been suspended for the rest of the day due to fighting, as well as from Cheryl who had gotten the same message directly from Bayside. Unfortunately, his frustration from that had effected his mood during the deposition.

"Yes," Nick Peterson sighed. "But-"

This time Peterson was cut off by a cellphone ring. Waterson's assistant guiltily reached into his pocket, slipping out of the room while bringing the phone to his ear, mouthing an apology to the rest of the room.

"I thought," said Kurt venomously, closing his eyes for a moment. "Everyone was told to silence their phones. In fact, I believe it's in the record." There were a few minutes of awkward silence. "Now lets get back to the task at hand. Mr. Peterson, you are aware that according to the contract you signed in May 2029 you forfeit all ownership, which includes the royalties, to the software you develop while at Sancorp?"

"I wasn't paid to develop those apps."

"Mr. Peterson, are you incapable of answering a simple yes or no question appropriately?" Kurt really should have been politer to the plaintiff but the situation at home left him with little patience. And there was just something so enjoyable about riling up an opponent when he was already on the defensive.

"Mr. Hummel! You cannot talk to my client that way."

"Then, Mr. Johnson, perhaps you can instruct your client to answer appropriately."

Dave Johnson was a mousy man over ten years Kurt's junior. He really didn't have anything against the other lawyer but litigation could bring out the worst in him. It was quite similar to a sample sale at Martyn Bal or Paul Helbers.

"Now, you say you weren't paid to develop these apps. But you did use company computers to develop them during company time?"

"I coded them during my lunch break and after hours, not while I was on the clock."

"But they were programmed on company computers, correct?"

"Yes."

"And is it not company policy that-"

"Mr. Hummel?"

"What?" Kurt snapped, making no effort to hide the venom in his voice.

Waterson's assistant had slipped back into the room, a look of chagrin on his face as he returned to his seat.

"That was your assistant, Cheryl. Apparently your husband has been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour. You should call him."

Kurt shuffled his papers in an attempt to keep his cool. "Is that it?"

"Yes, but-"

Kurt turned back to his client, and in a clipped voice, "If that's all, can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Mr. Hummel, she was really insistent that you call him as soon as possible," said the assistant meekly.

"We can always take a ten minute break," Mr. Johnson spoke up quickly. "Neither my client or I have any problem with that.

_Of course you wouldn't. _Kurt sighed and shot Waterson a look. Noting his slight nod, Kurt gave in. "Fine, let's re-adjourn in fifteen minutes."

Covering his legal pad with a manila folder to prevent his opponent from reading his notes, he grabbed his cell phone and headed out of the room. Five missed calls, Jesus.

"_Kurt?"_ exclaimed Blaine after the second ring. That should have been the first clue, the distress in his voice.

"Blaine, what do you need? I'm in the middle of a deposition so you need to be quick." Annoyance was, unfortunately, seeping into his tone.

"_Kurt...something's happened to Anderson."_

"I got your message, Blaine, and I'm fully prepared to deal with him when I get home."

"_It's not that...it's something else..."_ Blaine rambled. _"Um...you see...Anderson was...someone had..."_

"Blaine?" asked Kurt, growing more concerned. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

"_Um...I trying to get some laundry done and I found some of Anderson's pants...oh god." _Blaine cut himself off with a hiccuped gasp.

"Just breathe, honey," cajoled Kurt, leaning up against a wall. "What happened?"

"_Someone's been molesting Anderson," _he said quickly, as if it was too difficult to say any slower.

Kurt felt his knees buckle and crumpled to the floor. Someone had been...god, it didn't seem possible. They weren't from a broken home. He and Blaine were involved in their son's life. They watched him carefully, didn't let him ride his bike without an adult, or go to the park without one of them or a friend's parent. They talked about bad touches and not to keep secrets like that from them. God, there had to be a mistake. Blaine had to be overreacting.

"Are you sure? I mean, today has been a stressful day and-"

"_Kurt, he told me. I couldn't get a name out but there's no reason for him to lie."_

"Still, he knows he's in trouble," Kurt rationalized. It was so much easier to believe that Anderson was making something like this up to alleviate the trouble he was in for fighting than the alternative. "He could have-"

"_Kurt, I found blood in his underwear."_

"Oh god, oh my god," stammered Kurt, wiping the tears that were starting to fall. "I don't know what... what do we... how did this happen?"

"_I don't know."_

"Is he still bleeding. Oh my god, what if something's been torn?" Dread started to fill him up as the graveness started to really sink in.

"_I...I didn't even think of that. What kind of parent am I? I should have checked right away. God,"_ said Blaine after pausing for a moment. _"We need to get him to a hospital."_

"Okay. Um... let me just wrap things up here. You're taking to..."

"_New York Presbyterian. They're close. So I will meet you there...?"_

"Yeah. Stay strong, babe," said Kurt softly.

"_You too. Love you."_

"Love you too."

Hang up his mobile, Kurt could only hang his head for a minute. This was just so fucked up. He wiped his eyes and face one more time. If he didn't have more pressing matters, Kurt would have sneaked into the bathroom to wash his face. He knew that he must have looked like a wreck when he reentered the boardroom; the expressions on his client's and opposition's faces said as much.

"Hummel, is everything okay?" Waterson whispered in his ear, when Kurt returned to his seat.

"...Not really." He had begun to nod his head, not really thinking, but found the truth slipping out. Seeing that everyone had returned, "I apologize for the interruption, but there's been a family emergency."

A concerned murmurer broke out amongst the two legal teams.

"Is Blaine or Anderson hurt?" asked the first year associate working on the case with him.

"Anderson's on his way to the ER. I need to head out," he whispered back. He discreetly glanced over at Waterson, who was conversing with his P.A. "If they don't agree on finishing for the day, you're going to need to cover for me."

The young man looked paled. It was firm policy that first year associates were not to have billable hours. What Kurt was suggesting could get both of them fired.

"Listen," said Kurt. "I'm hoping that it doesn't happen, and based on how Peterson's testimony is going I'm pretty sure Johnson would love another night to prep his client. Either way, I have your back on this. Okay?"

He nodded. Kurt gave him a watery but encouraging smile. Having been packing up the remainder of his things, he turned back to the rest of the group. "My son is on the way to the emergency room, so I am proposing that we adjourn for the day and meet back tomorrow at nine?"

The room agreed with him. So while the remainder packed up their things, Kurt hightailed it out of the office, heading towards the nearby subway station.

* * *

><p>God, why didn't he think to take Anderson to the doctor right away. Blaine was beating himself up as he parked the car in New York Presbyterian garage. After Kurt had hung up, he was quick to throw a coat onto Anderson, grab Patches, and head to the emergency room. All he could do was thank his luck stars that traffic wasn't too bad.<p>

Anderson had grown progressively quieter as they approached the hospital. Blaine had done his best to reassure him that he wasn't in trouble, that he had been really brave, and that nothing bad was going to happen to him. But Anderson had still clamped down, focusing solely on the stuffed elephant in his lap. Blaine feared that it would get much worse once they got to the hospital. He had to promise him that he wouldn't leave him alone just to get him into the car.

"Hey Buddy," smiled Blaine, opening the back passenger door. He quickly reached towards his back pocket to make sure that his wallet was still there and then scooped Anderson up into his arms. He knew that he was going to have to visit his chiropractor by the end of this, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Blaine groaned internally when they made it to the pediatric waiting room. Why was it so packed at 4:30 on a Wednesday? He had noticed the three ambulances pulling in around the corner as well; at least Anderson's condition had to be more serious than the 15-year-old clutching his wrist. He placed his son in the extra chair by the reception window.

"Hi," he said to the woman behind the glass. "I'm here with my son Anderson Hummel. I found-"

"One second," said the woman, not looking up from her computer screen. "How do you spell his last name."

"Hummel," sighed Blaine. "H-U-M-M-E-L."

"Okay and his date of birth?"

"Eleven twenty-two, two thousand and twenty-four."

"Address?"

"829 Columbia Ave, zip code 10025."

"And your phone number?"

"212-555-3628."

"And what's his pediatrician's name?"

"Dr. Matthew Linus, and his phone number is 555-6925."

"And does Anderson have any allergies?"

"None that we're aware of."

"Okay almost done," she said, shooting him a smile. Blaine felt a little guilty about his tone. "I just need your name and your relationship to him as well as your insurance card and photo I.D."

"Blaine Hummel," he said, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket and handed her his license and insurance card. "I'm his father."

"Okay, I'm going to make a copy of these and I just need you to sign these form. This gives us permission to treat him and this bill your insurance, and this is his HIPPA form. Would you like a copy of them?" she asked handing off his cards to another woman in scrubs. She slid a tablet underneath the glass window.

"No." Blaine quickly signed and dated the appropriate lines, keeping one eye on his son.

"Great," said the woman, fiddling with the tablet when Blaine sent it back. "So, what's the problem?"

"I found blood in his underwear today. My husband and I think he may have been molested."

The woman did a double take. "Okay, and have you contacted the police yet?"

"Not yet. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't hurt or anything first."

"And when did you first suspect that Anderson had been sexually abused?"

"A couple hours ago."

"I see," she said, typing away at her computer. She slid Blaine back his cards before attaching a hospital bracelet to both his and Anderson's left wrists. "You can take a seat in the waiting room. Triage will call you when they are ready."

"Shouldn't he see a doctor right away?" inquired Blaine, a little angered that his son wasn't taken back right away.

"We're really backed up right now, okay?" she said, trying to scoot him back. "Next?"

Blaine grabbed Anderson's hand, shuffling the two of them over to a quieter section of the waiting room. He did his best to control his temper, but was annoyed by the woman's dismissive attitude. Sitting down in one of the empty chairs, Anderson curled up next to him. Wrapping an arm around him, Blaine grabbed on of the children's literary magazines on the table next to them and began to read.

He was able to finish the entire magazine before they were called back to triage. Blaine helped Anderson up onto the exam table before taking a seat next to him. He gave the nurse Anderson's weight and height, while the woman took is pulse-ox, blood pressure, and temperature.

"He has asthma and takes 4 mg of montelukast, but it's been under control for several years now. Other than that he's pretty healthy," said Blaine when asked about his medical history.

"Great," said Tricia, the nurse, as she filled out the appropriate boxes on her tablet. "So what's bothering you, Anderson?"

"I found blood in his underwear this afternoon. He said that someone had been molesting him," answered Blaine for him.

Tricia's smile waned slightly. "Okay, do you have a tummy ache Anderson? Is anything sore?"

Anderson gave a slight nod.

"Where is it sore, sweetheart?"

"My bum," whispered Anderson, while grabbing his back.

"Okay," said Tricia. "Now, your dad's going to step outside just for one minute, and I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Anderson gasped and grabbed Blaine's arm. "Papa, you said that you would stay. You can't go."

"I won't, buddy." Blaine looked over at the triage nurse. His words were for her as much as they were for Anderson. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's hospital policy for cases like this," said the nurse, guiding him off the table. She looked over to his son. "Anderson, he can wait right outside the room. I promise it won take more than five minute."

"Miss, he's freaked out beyond belief," said Blaine, gritting his teeth. Honestly, this woman was starting to get on his nerves. Still having no idea who had hurt Anderson, not leaving him alone was as much for his own benefit as it was for his son's. "I really think that I should stay here to make sure he stays calm."

"I'm going to have to insist, Mr. Hummel. If you don't cooperate, you'll leave me no choice but to call security," she said with a low voice, as she guided him towards the door.

_Doctor. Dr Hummel, _Blaine thought as he was ushered out of the room to the sound of Anderson starting to cry. He did his best to reassure him that he was right on the other side of the door and that in five minutes he would be back inside no. matter. what. Despite his best efforts, though, he was unable to listen to what was going on after the door was closed.

God, standing outside while his child was under duress was the worst feeling he had ever had in his live. It was worse than the shame he felt at home when he first came out for the first few years. It was worse than the time his senior year when Kurt had been mugged one night in New York and there was nothing he could do about it. It was worse than when Cooper was hospitalized while in Rome. And he couldn't help but think if he and Kurt had been more attentive, they may have caught this earlier when it wasn't so bad, or stopped it altogether. What had Anderson done to make himself a target. Yes, he was a quiet kid, but since when did that make a kid a target for a predator? Should they have done more to socialize him and make him more outgoing? Neither of them thought that Anderson isolated himself; he had friends and everything. Maybe Blaine had thought that they should be setting up more play dates for him, but Kurt was fine with Anderson wanting to spend time playing at home or going to art club.

And where the hell was Kurt? It shouldn't be taking him this long to get here. Waterson's office was only four miles from New York Presbyterian. If he left right away he should be here by now, whether he took the subway or a cab. The stress of the afternoon getting to him, Blaine let out a yelp and kicked a nearby trash bin out of anger. He quickly murmured an apology to the nearby hospital staff who sent him disapproving looks.

When the door to triage finally opened, the nurse emerged to ferry Anderson out. Noting the tears on his face, Blaine dropped to his knees to embrace his son, use a handkerchief to dry his eyes. Rubbing Anderson's back, he muttered encouragements into his ear, reassuring him that he wasn't going to go anywhere. At the same time he couldn't help but be irritated that the nurse had manged to upset Anderson. It was also a little uncomfortable for Blaine to know the particular cause of his son's tears.

"The questions I asked him were standard questions for any case of suspected sexual abuse," replied the nurse when Blaine questioned her.

"Did he tell you anything?" he asked quickly, wondering if this strange woman had gotten any information on the molestation that he had not.

"I can't discuss that right now."

"Can discuss – I'm his father! I think I have a right to know," sputtered Blaine indignantly.

"It's hospital policy for these things to be discussed with a doctor."

"Well then when can we see a doctor?" growled Blaine, doing his best not to further upset Anderson. "We've been waiting here for nearly an hour."

"I'm sorry," replied the nurse tersely. "Things have been busy tonight but it shouldn't be too long. So if you could please sit down in the waiting room, we'll call you when we're ready."

After she closed the door, Blaine had no choice but to lead Anderson back to the waiting room, which was even busier than when they arrived.

"Anderson! Blaine!"

Blaine whipped his head towards the reception area and spotted Kurt rushing to their side. While Blaine was relieved to see his husband, Anderson seemed to shrink away, trying to meld into his side.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Daddy's not mad at me, right?" Anderson asked him.

As he got closer, Blaine could see why his son would ask that. Kurt's face was flushed and clothing was a little disheveled. It was a far cry from his usual composed persona that Anderson was used to. Indeed, whenever Kurt got angry, the first telltale sign what the color rising to his cheeks.

"Oh buddy, I'm not mad at you, my brave little boy." Kurt had obviously also heard Anderson voice his concerns. He lifted him into his arms, cuddling him close to his chest. Shifting Anderson over to one hip, Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine, who buried his head into Kurt's neck for a second. After quickly releasing him, they maneuvered their way towards a pair of empty chairs.

"Sorry it took me so long to get here. The police had closed a platform, so the _ had stopped running. Of course I waited for fifteen minutes before I figured it out."

"That's okay; you're here now," Blaine whispered back, entwining his hand with Kurt's.

Keeping Anderson in his lap, Kurt let the little boy play with his elephant; he didn't want to push him any farther. When he would look either of his fathers in the eye, they would rub his back or whisper soothing words in his ear, both doing their best to keep him calm.

"How are you holding up?" asked Kurt quietly when Anderson was suitably distracted.

Blaine rubbed his face with a hand. "I don't even know. I keep wondering who did this to him and why weren't we able to see it. Part of me just wants this whole thing to go away."

"Hey, we're gonna get through this," said Kurt, running a thumb over Blaine's knuckles. He scanned the room. "Of course, it would be a little easier if we could. _see. a. freaking. doctor._ How long have you been waiting here?"

"Since 4:30."

Kurt bit his lip to stifle out his profanity. Shifting Anderson into Blaine's lap, he rose to go chew out a hospital employee when Anderson's name was called.


End file.
